


In Which Pekoyama Peko Performs a Lapdance

by Mithrigil



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bodyguard Romance, F/M, Hope's Peak Shenanigans, Horny Teenagers, Lapdance, Spoilers, Strip Tease, Super High School Level Awkward, near-porn experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithrigil/pseuds/Mithrigil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...and Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko can do nothing but sit back and watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Pekoyama Peko Performs a Lapdance

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where it is due: Puel provided pertinent punctuation edits and precise word choices, more than usual, in this fic. It's also her fault that I walked into this fandom. I regret nothing.
> 
> Backstory Spoilers through Chapter Two!

“Ooh, something’s _definitely_ cooking,” Hanamura says.

Ordinarily, Peko would pay Hanamura no mind at all. But Kuzuryuu is paying Hanamura mind, which means Peko should care as well. Kuzuryuu rolls his eyes, but looks over Hanamura’s shoulder at the tablet, and then:

“What the shit, Hanamura! You can’t watch that kind of crap in school!”

“Worst gangster ever,” Hanamura says. Most of his attention is still on the tablet. Good: that will make it much easier for Peko to _deal_ with him for saying something so blatantly untrue and insulting. “And hey, I’m just brushing up on alternatives to pressure cooking.”

“Pressure cooking my ass.”

Hanamura laughs. “You can’t tell me it doesn’t turn you on. Are you a man or aren’t you?”

Kuzuryuu snarls. “Shut up.”

Hanamura doesn’t get to say anything more before Peko, as implicitly instructed, rams the hilt of her shinai into Hanamura’s jaw. The tablet hits the floor, and a somewhat loud Super High School Level Hall Monitor appears out of nowhere to reprimand everyone, so Peko prepares herself for that.

But two important things are immediately apparent: one, that Kuzuryuu isn’t just angry, he’s blushing: and two, just what the scantily clad woman on the tablet was doing to the pressure-cooker.

Oh. _Interesting._

***

***

Kuzuryuu is still red in the face, later, alone in his room. His homework is done, his laptop is open, but there’s nothing to look at. And the mental images of Hanamura’s smug face, swollen from a Pekoyama Special, lost their novelty about an hour ago. So Kuzuryuu tilts back his chair and stares at the ceiling, trying not to think about what that chunky little pervert implied.

Not a man. _Bullshit._ Hanamura wouldn’t know what makes a man if he filleted and cooked one.

Just as that thought’s about to get disgusting, Peko’s familiar knock rings out through the room. “Just come in,” Kuzuryuu says, and rights the chair, all four legs on the floor where they belong. He always half-expects to hear a shoji slide instead of a mechanical door when it’s Peko. But at school it’s different, and it still makes him feel like he has to turn around.

Good thing he did, tonight, ‘cause something’s not right. She’s standing like normal, and she’s all put-together as ever, but there’s something about her eyes or her cheeks that isn’t lining up. Kuzuryuu fights back a lump in his throat.

“You got dorm-grounded, didn’t you?” he says, since if there’s something wrong with a girl’s face--and Peko _is_ a girl, whatever else she is--you’re not supposed to bring it up.

“This is more important,” she says. Is her voice shaky? That’s not just wrong, that’s--well, that’s fucked up.

“Important?” Kuzuryuu starts to get up, but--

“No, please,” Peko says, “stay there, Young Master.” Before Kuzuryuu can tell her not to fucking call him that, she reaches behind her to lock the door.

“Peko--“

She’s redder in the face than he is. He shuts up.

Then music starts playing from somewhere--club music--and fucked up doesn’t cut it.

Peko--well. She dances. He guesses it’s dancing. It’s more just shifting her hips and rolling her shoulders. But she breathes the same way she does when she fights and Kuzuryuu stares at her mouth. If he looks anywhere else he might go nuts.

He’s already nuts. He tries to say her name and ask her _what the fuck_. Only hot breath comes out.

Like it’s part of the dance, she reaches into her shirt and pulls the panel that matches her skirt off. Her bra peeks out. It’s black lace. Since when does Peko wear black lace? ( _Since now_ , Kuzuryuu’s dick says, ‘cause it’s got more to say than his mouth.)

He tries to get up out of the chair but she glares at him. It’s not the glare she gives people she beats up for him and his family. Sometimes, Kuzuryuu thinks there’s no one in there at all when she looks at people like that. (And that’s not just fucked up, that’s wrong. Peko should be Peko.) But he’s seen Peko fight some of the strongest kendoka in Japan, and she’s looking at him like that. Like she’s fighting him.

No. Like she’s fighting him and it’s good.

He stays in the chair.

The bass of the music cranks up, and Peko comes closer. Too close. Not close enough. He’s not sure. She puts her shinai-fukuro down within easy reach next to the chair. That’s good. That’s just like Peko. But then she leans over the chair and props her foot on the edge of the seat right between Kuzuryuu’s legs, reaches up past the hem of her skirt, and starts peeling her tights down.

His dick forgets that his brain exists.

His dick is really close to her foot. Her hands are also getting closer to her foot. Two and two add up to four in his head and Kuzuryuu chokes. “Peko. Peko, what the fuck--”

“Do you not want me to?” She stops, with the tights rolled halfway down one thigh. Her thigh is paler and looks softer than her knuckles. It might be shivering. Kuzuryuu bites his lip.

“Yes. I mean no! I mean--what the fuck?”

The music goes on without them, and Peko peels her tights down another couple centimeters. Her glasses are a little fogged and her cheeks are glowing, but her eyes are as serious as ever. “Please,” she says, “let me do this for you.”

Her voice has never gone straight to his balls before. It just did. But he still somehow says, “Do what?” It’s all air. All hot, thick air.

A drop of sweat beads on her forehead. Kuzuryuu wants to taste it. “It did turn you on,” she says, low and all breath just like him. “What you saw on Hanamura’s tablet. I want to...do that.”

He’s not gonna say no to that. He can’t. His blood’s pounding faster than the bassline and his pants are tightening just like his throat, and Peko, _his Peko_ is standing between his legs saying she wants to give him a lapdance.

But since he doesn’t say yes, she looks down and doesn’t move. “I assure you, Young Master, I’ve researched this.” The red on her cheeks reaches up to her ears. It’s one of the hottest things Kuzuryuu’s ever seen. “And since you can’t call anyone into Hope’s Peak to do it professionally, and we’re confined to the dorms, I took it upon myself to learn how, and--”

“Don’t do this just ‘cause you think I want it!” --Shit. “I mean, I want it. But I don’t want you to not want it.” Shit, when did his tongue get as thick as his dick? Bad question. Bad idea.

All he can think is that she’s right here and _isn’t touching him._ But she looks up, looks him in the eye, takes a deep breath. “I want to be what you need,” she says. They’re just words. It’s just Peko. It’s _Peko_ , saying this, and not forcing it, and meaning it. “I want to be everything you need.”

Shit. _Shit._ Yes. “Okay.”

She nods, blows a strand of hair off her face, and leans down to pick up where she left off. Her stocking comes off slow and gathers around her ankle, brushes against Kuzuryuu’s crotch. Even if it’s more than he’s ever gotten it’s not enough. She takes that away too, draws her foot back to put the other up--not on the seat, on the back of the chair, over Kuzuryuu’s right shoulder. And now he knows why she wears those tights, because he can see clear up her skirt. He thought it was just gossip about Peko’s black thong. He thought wrong. He can’t think.

Once the tights are off, she drops them in his lap, which is too damn full right now, and stands in front of him. Her naked legs rub against his shins from the inside. He hates pants right now. Pants are embarrassing and overrated. The thought of what she might do to him if she took his pants off makes his skin sear. But she doesn’t take his pants off, just grabs his shoulders and straddles him.

If she wasn’t blushing almost as red as her eyes, he’d wonder if this was Peko at all. But it’s her. She’s doing this. And like everything Peko does for him, she does it just right without him telling her how. Kuzuryuu’s not sure if there’s a wrong way--well, there is one. But she’s not doing that. She’s not following orders. She’s not going through forms. She’s rubbing herself on him and breathing close to his ear and rocking in time to the music, and he’d look her in the eyes if he wasn’t seeing pure heat. Her skirt hides just how close their bodies are. He doesn’t care how close, he just wants closer.

And just when he thinks he’s gonna go insane or die or grab her and kiss her, she stops. And takes her glasses off. And tucks them into his shirt collar so she can pull her sweater over her head.

Peko is straddling him, wearing nothing but a skirt, a thong, and a black lace bra. _Peko is straddling him wearing nothing but a skirt a thong and a black lace bra._ There is nothing else. There is nothing anywhere. There is only Peko. And Peko’s bra. And her thong just got caught on Kuzuryuu’s fly.

He doesn’t mean to moan her name like that.

He definitely doesn’t mean she should stop. But she does. Her hands settle on his shoulders, and she pushes herself down into his lap, and when he looks up his chin slides along her breast. She’s watching him. She’s doing this, and watching him, and she must be close enough that even without her glasses she can see everything. Everything.

She worries at her lower lip. He licks his. Hers would be better.

He wouldn’t even have to stop this. Just stretch up, touch her, kiss her--

“--Young Master.” She immediately goes for her shinai. “Please wait here.” And before he can even ask why, she’s out of his lap and charging for the window--

\--where Hanamura’s face is pressed up against the glass.

Hanamura gives them a thumbs up. It’s the last thing his right hand will ever do.

His laughter soars into the night. Then his screams, when Peko catches up with him at the basketball courts.

***

***

“I heard he tried to break into the Girl’s Changing Room,” Saionji says.

“Again?” Kozumi says, wrinkling her nose. “Asshole.”

“He couldn’t have!” Asahina says. “I was there all night! Wasn’t I, Sakura-chan?”

Sakura nods solemnly.

“Right! So that can’t be true.”

Celes shrugs and yawns. “Well _I_ heard there was an elaborate panty-heist planned for last night, but it was all a setup to get Hanamura expelled and deported to Portugal.”

“There is no evidence relating to that claim,” Kirigiri says, mostly to her lunch tray.

“And why Portugal?” Sonia asks.

Kirigiri tucks some hair behind her ear and goes on, “If it’s a question of where Hanamura could have been spying on Peko where she had to chase him without putting her clothes on, we have to guess where she was running from.”

“I agree,” Naegi says.

“Ibuki heard really cheap house music coming from Kuzuryuu-kun’s room last night,” Ibuki says. “Maybe since they were grounded, they were having a house party!”

Their entire cafeteria table is silent for long enough to hear Kuzuryuu’s muffled “Shut up!” from three tables away.

And at that table, a Super High School Level Gangster and his loyal retainer sit, awkwardly picking at their lunch trays. The blush on Peko’s cheeks isn’t nearly as bright as last night, but that might be because she’s hiding her face behind her hair. “Should I make them stop the investigation, Young Master?”

“No,” he says. “Don’t bother. It’ll just rile everyone up.”

“I understand,” she says, and crosses her ankles beneath the cafeteria table. One of her feet brushes against his, and they both jump apart.

_Shit,_ Kuzuryuu thinks. _Like that’ll ever happen again._

But even if it never happens again, it’s not like he didn’t, well. Get off. Because the sight of Peko beating the shit out of Hanamura, wearing nothing but her underwear, was even hotter than the lapdance.

******


End file.
